About ten years ago, I used to take part in piano lessons. Once or twice a week, my mom, brother, and I would travel to Glennallen to meet with my piano teacher who possessed a shy, fluffy black cat. As a kid I was not very interested in piano, and I honestly don’t remember why I was taking it. Nevertheless, early on, my piano teacher warned me about getting to close to her cat. Unfortunately, I was curious, especially when it came to animals. I slowly approached the cat that was under the kitchen table on a chair at the moment. Mesmerized by the wide golden spheres staring straight at me, I moved closer. Two seconds later, I was stealthily running to the bathroom, hoping to hide there. I shut the door behind me and immediately rushed to the mirror. When I got to close to the cat, he threw his paw at me and, with claws outstretched, slit my eyelid right up the center. My mom, suspicious as to why I was so silent, found me in the bathroom and knew pretty much right away what had happened. I was then taken to Crossroads where I was strapped to a table with only my eye showing. The doctors numbed my eye with a small syringe, which proved to be very painful, and proceeded to give me the one and only stitch that I would ever receive. This experience is what I believe to be at the core of my irrational fear of needles, and maybe it’s why I haven’t taken an interest in music.

The year 2007 brought with it many new experiences, yet the one that I look back and laugh at is the day that I first met my horse Maverick. At the time, Maverick was an eight year old Morab (Morgan Arabian) who had been gelded for about two months. In truth, he still had the same mentality as a fiery stallion. To be gelded at eight is late, and can lead to a pool of problems that are quite troublesome to control and/ or break. The previous day (before I met Maverick), I went riding with Maverick’s owner Diane Ellsworth. She announced that I would be riding Kiana, a large Percheron Arabian cross. Somehow Kiana had managed to get the spunk of an Arabian, and at the same time be incredibly lazy. She also had a horrendous attitude. I love riding, but she was far from a pleasure to ride. The following morning, I once again arrived at Diane’s house to go riding. This time she asked me if I wanted to ride the “big bay” or the “little bay (bay is a color pattern used to denote a brown horse with a black mane and tail).” Without hesitation, realizing that any horse would be better than Kiana, I replied “little bay.” Thus I was introduced to Maverick. Within the first 10 minutes of our ride, I deduced that calling this ride interesting was an understatement. The slightest odd noise or shape would send Maverick flying into a tizzy. He would veer away from whatever it was that was bothering him. To make matters even more exciting, upon cantering, Maverick would buck and rear with all his might, in an attempt to establish his dominance. These quirks however made him a much more interesting horse to ride, and each time he failed to throw me from his back, was one more step towards respect on his part. This new found bond would only progress from this ride. The following two years I spent disciplining Maverick, as well as gaining his trust and vice versa. Through hours of hard work, excitement, and dangerous situations, our bond became tighter and tighter. I remember one winter ride I went on with Sammie Ellsworth and Audrey Shepherd. In the summer time the gravel pit would collect rain water in one particular space near the center of the pit. This large puddle was about 20 feet long and 10 feet wide. In the winter it would freeze over and was unnoticeable, making it was easy for us to completely forget that it was there. As we rode along, the frozen puddle was the least of our worries. I was the first to cross, and in the midst of trotting, Maverick slipped on the ice to quickly for me to do anything. His feet came out from under him and he fell flat on his side. I fell with him. My legs were draped on either side of his barrel (abdomen), and my left leg should have been crushed considering that was the side he fell on. Instead, I felt nothing, and my left leg felt just as my right, intact and unharmed. Once he returned to his feet, I took a moment to contemplate what had just happened. My conclusion was this. In order for him to have completely avoided my leg, he would have to bend his body upward away from the leg in a cup shape motion. From this I deduced that he respected the fact that I was on his back and my well-being. Finally I had chipped the iceberg that was, and still is, Maverick’s hard skull. I had finally tapped into his mind, established a working relationship, and gained the trust that I so increasingly desired.